


Let me take this temple down

by miabicicletta



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Post-Case, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 16:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2629256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miabicicletta/pseuds/miabicicletta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You said how could this happen, you said how can this be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me take this temple down

**Author's Note:**

> A little nothing ficlet that I got into my head. Hope you like it :D

He wasn't much of an ego, and he'd admit when Sherlock was right, he was _right._

Tonight the consulting berk got it on two counts: Louis Carlyle _had_ been sitting on £50,000 worth of cocaine (now under NSY lock and key in Croyden), _and_  the drug trafficking middleman had shown up to the club address in Soho, at 10:15pm sharp, just as Sherlock said he would, and just as his photo text indicated. Right as the band was getting going, too.

The arrest was quick, and both Carlyle and his two associates were apprehended without incident, no witnesses needed. Bang and done, for a change. The musicians resumed their set after a brief, slightly awkward announcement from the club manager. All in all, as good a grab as could be expected for a Friday night. Peterson even said he’d do the booking, which was as close to a damn miracle as it got, in his experience. 

There was just one thing that was bothering Greg Lestrade. “Huh.” He shook his head.

Donovan appeared at his back. “What’s up boss?”

“Nuthin’.” He rubbed absently at his chin, narrowed his eyes. “I’m just tryna to figure out when _that_ happened.”

Across the room, on the dance floor, as a cool, bluesy refrain faded into a violin solo, Sherlock Holmes looked at Molly Hooper, and she looked back. Really looked, plain and open, not nervous or guarded. Not irritated. Not excited or jumpy. They looked at each other as they danced, not once breaking eye contact, as honest-to-God transfixed as he’d ever seen two people be.

It should be weird; it _was_  a bit weird. Thing was, Greg reasoned, it also sort of made sense. Like looking at one of them trick perspective puzzles, where the images seem right but put together wrong, or you see 'em jumbled and at different moments, not revealing particularly much of what's going on. Then suddenly something, and you dunno what, but  _something_ shifts, and then settles, and the whole picture just sort of....comes together.

 _You said how could this happen, you said how can this be_ , the moody singer and his sweet backup sang. _The chains are gone from heaven, the storms are wild and free._

“I’ll be damned,” said Sally Donovan.  

Molly said something. Sherlock laughed. _Actually_ laughed.

It was totally weird. Right up to the point where it made absolute, perfect sense.

“Sign of the impending apocalypse?” Sally broached.

“Nah. I don’t think so,” Greg said after a moment’s consideration. Sherlock propped his chin on Molly’s head, and she curled her arm around his waist. Other couples filled the dance floor, and the pair of them faded from view.

He gave Donovan a misty look. “Think our boy’s growin’ up, is all.”

“Wonders never cease,” Sally quipped, rolling her eyes. He knew how she meant, acerbic and mean, but he caught her looking over her shoulder once more before they left, smiling a _tiny_  bit. Hell if he wasn't too.

As they took their leave, the violin solo sang out once more. Greg mentally amended himself—Sherlock had been right on three counts: The band _was_ pretty good.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the background song: [Samson in New Orleans](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMQtvOwkT6w) by the one and only Leonard Cohen.


End file.
